


Of Thunderstorms and Séances

by starlight_starbright



Series: Stucky College AU's [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artist Steve, Candles, Composing, Dinner, Dinner By Candlelight, First Kiss, Getting to Know Each Other, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Musician Bucky, PTSD, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Rain, Summer storms, Veteran Bucky, Veteran Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky opens his home to Steve when the blond locks himself out of his apartment during a thunderstorm.</p><p>Or: how Bucky and Steve got to know each other inside out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Thunderstorms and Séances

**Author's Note:**

> These are all based on some college AU's floating around tumblr.

The sky has been threatening to crack open all week, and it looks like it's finally about to happen. There're flood warnings and wind speed warnings all over the news. Bucky's ready. He loves storms. He has his favourite chair set up next to the glass door that leads out to his balcony and his half-finished sheet music in a folder on the table. As soon as the rain starts falling, he's going to get to work. 

Rain has always inspired him to compose. It's always brought out the best in his work, so he takes every opportunity to use the natural weather patterns to his advantage. He composes darker music during the worst storms--notes that start slow and by the end of the piece, the melody has built and crashed and finishes as sweetly as it started. Sighing, Bucky picks up his phone from where it's ringing on the counter. 

"Can I help you with something?" he asks sardonically and there's a snort from the other end of the line. 

"Rude little fucker, you are," Natasha says. "I just called to make sure you got home safe, asshole." 

"Yeah, I'm good," he says, wedging his phone between his cheek and his shoulder to finish getting his dinner ready. "You and Sam all locked up?" He immediately regrets asking that. 

"Yup," she says, popping the 'p.' "Got condoms that'll last for days over here." Bucky groans and washes his hands off after sliding the chicken in the oven. 

"Didn't need to know that, Nat, but thanks for scarring me." She laughs and Bucky can't help but smile. The rain starts tapping on the glass of his door and he looks up in just enough time to see the first strike of lightning. 

"Anyway, I don't wanna keep you. Go do your music thing, James. Check in so I know you're not dead." 

"I should be the one saying that to you," Bucky says as he walked over to his balcony. 

"Shut the fuck up and go compose," Natasha snaps good-naturedly before hanging up. Bucky watches the storm uninterrupted for a few moments before he hears someone cursing outside. 

"Are you fucking serious?" a deep voice calls from the outside hallway. Bucky opens his door and peeks outside to see a tall blond running a hand through his hair. Holy _shit_ this guy is gorgeous. He’s seen the blond around a little bit, but never enough to get to know him. 

"Hey man, everything okay?" Bucky asks, making the guy jump. Hot Blond Guy—Steve?—looks up, embarrassed blush staining his pale face. 

"Yeah, I just locked myself out of my apartment." Hot Blond Guy glares at him when Bucky chokes back his laughter. 

"Sorry, sorry," Bucky says, still chuckling. "It's Steve right?" Bucky's seen this guy around with Natasha's boyfriend Sam. They must be friends. And he and Natasha are going to have a long talk about not introducing them sooner. 

"Yeah," Hot Blond Guy—Steve—says. 

"Get your ass in here, Steve. Don't wanna get caught out in this. Half the city's shut down." Bucky moves aside so Steve can shuffle through the door. "Just make yourself at home," Bucky says, brushing past the hulking blond to make his way over to his chair. "I have chicken in the oven if you haven't eaten yet."  

"You don't have to—"

"It's fine, Steve," Bucky interrupts. "It's already cooking and there's like six pieces in there. It's really no big deal." Bucky sits in his chair and grabs his pencil and music. "The couch is all yours, buddy." Bucky hears Steve kick his shoes off and fold himself on the couch, but the guy is restless. Bucky's composed two measures when he sees Steve's reflection in the glass. 

"You write music?" he asks quietly, just as in awe of the storm as Bucky is. There's a bright flash of lightning and Bucky shapes a few more notes before answering. 

"Yeah. I write for a few different orchestras. I've done some scores for movies, too." It's not a big deal to Bucky, but Steve is looking at him with a shocked little smile. It’s gorgeous. 

"So you're famous?" Steve asks, and Bucky laughs. 

"I guess. In New York, at least. James Barnes?" The blond's eyes widen and his face breaks into a grin.  

"I have one of your soundtracks!" he exclaims, still smiling. 

"Yeah?" Bucky asks, grinning at Steve. 

"Yeah, man. You're really good. I didn't know it was you 'cause Sam said your name was Bucky." Steve sits on the floor, bracing his back on the glass door. 

"I go by Bucky. My middle name's Buchanan." Bucky smiles stupidly at Steve for a moment before lightning flashes in the sky and the lights go out. After a few moments in the dark, Bucky shoves his sheet music aside and gets up, peaking out the glass door. "Are you fuckin' serious right now?" Bucky mutters, glancing down the street. “Look like the power’s out down the whole street,” he tells Steve. 

“Do you have candles?” Steve asks, up and moving. Bucky’s distracted by the muscles in his back for a few moments before remembering he was asked a question.

“Under the kitchen sink,” Bucky murmurs, grabbing his lighter out of his cigarette pack and tossing it at Steve’s head.

“Lethal weapon alert,” the blond mutters and Bucky laughs. He hasn’t laughed this much since he shipped out six years ago. It feels good. Fuck, it feels great. And it’s all Steve. Bucky barely even knows the guy. He’s seen the blond around at Tony Stark’s parties and he sees him every now and then passing in the apartment complex hallways, but he’s never spent time with Steve. He’s hoping he’ll get to do that tonight.

He’s been gone on Steve since he first saw him. 

“You doin’ séances with these or somethin’?” Steve asks, holding up Bucky’s box of about a dozen white candles. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he looks absolutely adorable. 

“Yes, of course. You better get out now because the spirits in my house might decide they don’t like you.” Bucky joins Steve in lighting the candles and spreading them around the apartment. They place most of them in the kitchen and living room, but Bucky sets a few at his piano, too.

“Sorry, sprits,” Steve says, looking up at the ceiling and holding his hands up. “I will make sure not to touch your guy in any inappropriate way.” Bucky laughs—head thrown back, full-body laughter.

“Don’t worry, Stevie. I don’t think they’ll hurt you.” Bucky reaches up to ruffle his hair, but Steve ducks out of the way and shoves Bucky gently. Steve’s hand lingers on Bucky’s chest for just a moment too long—to the point that he can feel the heat radiating off of Steve’s hand. But then the moment is broken when Bucky remembers that the chicken was in the oven. Cursing under his breath, Bucky goes to pull the chicken out of the oven, but Steve gets there first.

“Was wondering when you’d remember that,” Steve murmurs, smiling softly. He pulls it out of the oven with the oven mitt lying on the counter and sets it down on the stove. “Looks like you won't be finishing that piece tonight,” he says quietly, smile still quirking his lips.

“Not such a bad exchange for a such a cute guy in my kitchen,” Bucky replies, not thinking. He mentally kicks himself. _Seriously, Bucky?_ But Steve blushes and ducks his head, looking adorable and ruffled, and Bucky serves dinner. Chicken and rolls and scotch. “You want some?” he asks Steve, holding up the bottle.

“Yeah, thanks, Buck.” Steve takes the glass of amber liquid from Bucky and they sit, tucking in. Bucky almost chokes on his food when he hears Steve let out the most _obscene_ moan Bucky’s ever heard. And of course, it goes straight to his dick. “This is really fucking good,” Steve tells him, eyes wide. “I need to lock myself out of my apartment more often.” Bucky laughs shakily and shoves more food in his mouth so he doesn’t say anything stupid.

“You’re welcome over any time, Stevie,” he finally says, hoping he didn’t just overstep his bounds.

“As long as you’ll make me dinner, it’s a date,” Steve says, smirking over the table at Bucky. His face is dimly lit by the candles, but Bucky can still see the playful glint in his eyes and has to take a deep breath to calm himself. He wants to jump this guy right now and fuck him against the wall. Against the floor. Any flat surface would do, really. He hasn’t been with anyone since before he was deployed and that sexual tension is beginning to catch up with him. 

The storm is crashing outside—lightning and thunder and pouring rain—and Steve is here in his apartment in the candlelight looking breathtakingly gorgeous and talking about dates. With Bucky. And Bucky hasn’t been this happy in years. He hasn’t felt like this in years. It’s a strange feeling while also being the most familiar thing in the world.

Bucky used to be a very happy person—always a smile on his face, a joke on his tongue. But then he’d enlisted. He’d enlisted because he’d felt alone—with his parents gone and his sister estranged, there hadn't been much for him. He’d been a part of a big group of friends in high school, but they were all surface relationships except for Nat. He’d made the best friends in Special Ops where he had Dum Dum and Gabe and Mortia and the rest of them.

But here Steve is, looking gorgeous and sexy in his kitchen while his favourite weather is thrashing outside and he doesn’t feel so alone anymore. Steve and Bucky haven't even spoken about anything important and Bucky already feels like he’d known the guy forever. It’s a strange feeling, but not an unwelcome one.

“Oh my god,” Bucky mutters when the inspiration hits.

“What?” Steve asks. “Hey I'm sorry if that was—”

“Holy shit. Oh my god.” He gets up, almost falling out of his chair before racing to his piano in the corner of the room. He pulls out his phone and hits record and before he’s fully seated, he’s already playing. Playing and composing and pounding the keys before letting up and starting the whole process over. He looses himself—closing his eyes briefly and letting himself sway a little bit, blocking out everything but the storm and the mental image of Steve.

He doesn’t notice that Steve’s crouched beside the bench until his fingers ghost over the last few keys and he opens his eyes. Steve’s just staring at him—open mouthed, wide eyed. Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but he can't form any words. He doesn’t know how to explain how he gets when he gets an idea. He doesn’t know how to apologise for being rude. He just . . . he had to write that _right then_ or he’d forget it.

“I . . .” he tries, but Steve lurches up, pressing their lips together. And _holy fuck_ Bucky’s never been kissed like this. Steve’s left hand is cupping that back oh his skull while his right hand is a gentle pressure on his cheek. His lips are so warm and so soft that Bucky never wants to break this kiss. So he takes Steve’s face in both of his hands and deepens the kiss, angling Steve’s chin so that Bucky can lap into his mouth. The blond moans softly, fingers twisting in Bucky’s hair.

It lasts and lasts. Bucky can't tell time like this—only focusing on the man kissing him and the hand in his hair. The storm rages outside, at odds with the gentle way Steve is kissing him. The rain keeps them company, tapping out a melody of new beginnings and warmth. Steve tasted like scotch and an odd sweetness that Bucky can't place. It just feels _so goddamn good_. But eventually, Steve breaks it off, mouthing at Bucky’s neck and catching his breath.

“I wanted to do that since the day I met you,” Steve whispers, grinning against Bucky’s skin. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, running a hand through Steve’s hair.

“Yeah, Buck.” Steve looks up at him and kisses him once more—a chaste little kiss on his mouth—before telling Bucky to stay put and compose while he takes care of the dishes. Bucky does as he’s told only because he really needs to write this down, and then when both Steve and Bucky are finished, they curl up on the couch and watch the rain.

They talk about everything—childhoods, high school years, illnesses and siblings (or lack thereof), parents and deaths, loneliness and friends, past relationships and the lack of current ones. Bucky talks about the army and Steve talks about the marines. Steve talks about charcoal and paint and pencils while Bucky talks about pianos and sheet music and guitars. By the time the talking devolves into making out, they really do know almost everything about each other. 

And Steve makes Bucky feel at home—something he hasn’t had in years.

Later, Bucky will learn that Steve was just as much of a goner as Bucky was when they’d first met. He’ll learn what makes Steve come apart and what puts him back together. He’ll learn that he doesn’t even mind bottoming sometimes—that in fact, it’s probably one of his favourite things with Steve.

But best of all, he’ll learn that Steve loves him just as much as Bucky loves Steve. That Steve is willing to work through their PTSD together—that Steve isn’t going to leave him even when it gets hard. 

And that’s the best part of all.


End file.
